


Morbid Curiosity

by Aulynduel



Category: Tales of the Abyss
Genre: Battle, Character Study, Explosions, Gen, Internal Monologue, Short, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:21:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26556511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aulynduel/pseuds/Aulynduel
Summary: Blood has no color in darkness.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Morbid Curiosity

**Author's Note:**

> This is an OLD piece of writing, written around 2012 or so. Be gentle with me.

_I am highly aware that my particular interests might scare most people._

Green light slices through the darkness, illuminating the face of his victim as his spear splatters blood in a sudden arc. Almost artistic.

_Should I care? Most likely. Do I? Not particularly._

The blackness is complete again, stars inconsequential, any moonlight smothered by clouds. Sight is unreliable, but so is sound. Sounds are fleeting on the battlefield: the soft wind whistling around the clearing, moans of the useless dead and dying. His labored breathing is the only constant.

Scarlet eyes lacking in physical sight dart around, looking for the bright rays of color that will distinguish life from the painful opacity of the night.

_It’s not normal for death to be so intertwined with one’s life._

A sudden ray of light, his gaze slides towards it, his feet expertly move into position, turning his body suddenly. His spear whips through the air with an appropriate snap as he brings it around in an arc, cutting into the chest of the enemy before him.

He sees them like no one else does, his eyes ensure it. Only the Necromancer can see the life draining from the other, see the gasping face illuminated by the basis of his chemical and fonic structure. Blood gushes down his torso as his eyes fade and his fonic light goes out.

_Then, what is normal?_

A gasp from the killer’s lips rends the air as he feels a sharp pain slice into his back. No time to meander through thoughts of his last kill. An amateur mistake, and he is no amateur. He yanks his spear from the corpse with a sickening squelch, using the shaft to deflect another slash. Seconds later the head is covered in different blood as the liquid flies from another enemy’s throat.

Blood has no color in darkness.

_Isn’t death really intricately a part of every life, if simply as the end? Is fascination with it truly unhealthy? I would assume it to be the best form of preparation, but don’t mind me._

His pale skin is splattered with the latest spray. A smirk forms on his lips as he glimpses another and he swiftly turns, front foot expertly sliding forward, spear arm following to pierce through the heart with a soft, liquid crunch.

_Does the wish to follow the deceased - if only to discover what such a thing entails - does that make me suicidal? In the technical terms, it might seem so. My, how disconcerting._

Sanguine eyes watch the newest foe fall, only the briefest cast of interest lighting them before they dart to the right. Further. More. His weapon disappears in another flash of green, different from the light his sight casts everyone in. The sickly hue gives them a true sense of death. His vision simply watches them blink out of existence.

_Does gathering basic data make me the equivalent of a Necromancer? Or is it the end to which the data is the means? _ _I suppose that begs the question as to what end I strive. Is it a quest to override death? Cheat it? Hmm. Perhaps fix it?_

A gloved hand, splattered dark with a tint that is imperceptible to the wearer, rises and almost artfully poses. Another familiar fonic light shines as an intricate circle slowly draws itself around him. The fonic script and lines that follow it etch themselves into the ground surrounding him, the grass disintegrating in its wake.

_No. I am simply interested._

New sounds softly join the rustling greenery and gentle wind. A low, whispering hum. His lips move quickly, chanting as his eyes close in concentration. He feels the enemy nearing, closer and closer. Crimson eyes snap open, seeming to burn as the brilliant red glow underfoot illuminates them. A sudden shout cuts the air.

_It’s an intellectual investigation._

A blast thunders.

The night is abruptly ended by a wild, fiery gale, throwing the clearing into a sunset. Heat suddenly explodes throughout the area and, even from his vantage point, the caster’s long hair whips about in the scorching gust.

_I would simply like to know how it feels._

Long legs carry him through the burnt, charred remains. One. Two. Three. A dozen. A whole flank. One soldier’s eyes are intact. With the fire lighting the clearing, the color is indeterminable.

The Necromancer’s stained gloves slide into his pockets. He bends down and places a hand over the remains of the chest. A fonic circle begins to form under his hand. He pauses, the glowing arte fading as he stands. No gatherable data. Perhaps a less destructive spell next time.

_To truly feel nothing. Or see what else happens; I’m nothing if not an open minded researcher._

He walks toward his battalion, silhouetted by the flames. His eyes narrowed, almost amused.

_In the end, it’s simply a… morbid curiosity, I suppose._


End file.
